


(try as you might) you'll never be him

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “He said something about a travel companion.” There was something off about his voice, but he couldn’t quite place it. It was too smooth, lacking the usual gruffness. “But he failed to mention you were so gorgeous.”Jaskier blinked at him. “Uhh,” he replied dumbly. He had certainly been complimented many times in his life, by both men and women, but he had never expected to hear those words out of Geralt’s mouth. He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.Geralt’s rough thumbs stroked his cheeks. He blinked again, finally understanding.“You’re—you’re the, um, the guy,” he stammered. He took a step back, pointing an accusatory finger. “You possessed Geralt?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 818





	(try as you might) you'll never be him

**Author's Note:**

> based VERY LOOSELY on dead man's party from hearts of stone expansion (with some big changes bc what's canon? idk her)
> 
> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier had followed Geralt without question, only knowing he had mentioned something about a well-paying job with little work. He didn’t really see the point in pushing for more information. He never did. And who would complain about easy money? Certainly not him.

Arriving in Redania, Geralt stopped by an inn first, renting them a room. Business as usual. Jaskier propped on the bed, perched on the edge, watching as the other man prepared for — the slaying of a beast, he assumed, same as every other night.

Jaskier tapped his quill, tip dry, against his bottom lip. It had been a while since he worked on a new song; he’d gotten lazy over the last few months, performing the same songs over and over again.

The public loved them. Don’t fix what isn’t broken, he had thought, but he also knew humans were fickle and grew bored quickly. He needed to stop lazing around and put quill to parchment, earn his keep.

He looked up as Geralt fastened his armor, standing in front of the dirty mirror.

“So,” he started as casually as he could. “What beast are you slaying tonight? Something grisly, I hope.”

Geralt snorted, turning toward him. “Not exactly, no.” He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in the morning. Or—” He paused, seeming to think for a moment. “Noon, at the latest.”

Jaskier frowned as he walked to the door. “Wait,” he said at the last second, standing up. “I want to go.”

There was a long pause. “Jaskier,” he said with a sigh, turning around, clutching the strap of his bag. He already looked exhausted and the conversation had just begun.

“You know as well as I do that I’ve been struggling to find inspiration,” he said, walking across the room to stand in front of him. “Maybe this would help,” he said, already starting to feel the familiar giddiness that preceded witnessing a battle. There was nothing quite like it.

Geralt sighed again. “It’s not going to be exciting,” he said finally. Jaskier frowned, not believing him. “I mean it,” he continued, shifting on his feet.

Jaskier squinted at him. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms. “What are you going out there to do, then?”

He knew he was lying; they had stopped a few times on their way, collecting ingredients. Jaskier didn’t know what any of them were for, of course, but he knew most of Geralt’s jobs didn’t call for special ingredients. This had to be _good_. Worth a ballad, at least, the slaying of Redania’s greatest beast. Had a nice ring to it.

Geralt looked unexpectedly embarrassed, which was a new look for him. But not a bad one.

“I am to see that Vlodimir von Everec has the night of life,” he said, finally, through clenched teeth.

Jaskier blinked once. Twice. The corners of his mouth curled, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m sorry,” he said, hand in the air. “Are you _whoring_ yourself out, Geralt?” Geralt’s eyes widened for the shortest of seconds, and Jaskier laughed wildly. “You should be careful how you word things,” he exclaimed, dancing out from under Geralt’s hand as he tried to smack him. “That’s all I’m saying!”

“I am not whoring myself out,” he said once Jaskier had stopped laughing.

Jaskier nodded, still grinning. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said brightly. “No judgment here.”

Geralt glared at him. If looks could kill, he’d be dead. Like _dead_ -dead. It was a good thing he had limited powers.

“Okay, okay,” he said, patting his armored chest. “If you’re not whoring yourself out, what _are_ you doing?”

That was how they ended up back on the bed, the sky darkening through the small window in the room. Jaskier listened as Geralt explained that after they were separated last, he had fell into some—unexpected _trouble_.

“And I was saved from certain death by O'Dimm,” he explained, staring ahead. “He didn’t want money or anything like that, just my help. To grant the three wishes of a man named Olgierd von Everec.”

Jaskier nodded, only half-understanding but he was used to that—came with being Geralt’s companion. “What were the wishes?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied breezily. “I only have one wish left to complete. Here, in Redania.”

“And _what_ is it, exactly?” he asked, leaning forward to get a good look at Geralt’s face.

Geralt sighed, looking over at him. “He has a brother. A younger brother. He wants me to help him have one last good night. Didn’t specify much; said he would tell me. But I’m assuming it’ll just be a long night of drinking and sex.” He paused briefly, looking over at him with a glare. “ _Not_ with each other.”

Jaskier beamed at the information. Maybe not the best material for a _song_ , true, but—“And you weren’t going to tell _me?_ ” he asked with false offense, pressing a hand over his heart, puppy-dog eyes. “Your very best friend in the world, who just so happens to be _very_ experienced in both drinking _and_ fucking?”

He snorted, looking away. “You’re the worst.”

“No, the _best_ ,” he corrected, wagging a finger. “Like I said, you should let me go with you. Sounds fun.”

Geralt hummed, mouth twisting. “Maybe after,” he said finally, cryptic as ever. He _loved_ to complain about mages being cryptic, Jaskier had learned, but he wasn’t much better.

“After _whattttt?_ ” he asked, leaning against him. Geralt’s eyes flickered to him, nearly smiling.

“There’s a catch,” he said. “His brother? He’s dead.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as he sat up straight again. “ _Dead_ -dead?”

“What else kind of dead is there, Jaskier?” he asked dryly. “I have the blood for the summoning. I just have to find the Von Everec family crypt and perform it.”

Jaskier squirmed, suddenly feeling inspired, heart singing. “You might need help,” he said as Geralt stood up again, jumping up with him. “I can—I can, uh, help you find the crypt. Or—or, you know, do the—the summoning thing.”

“A Blood Summoning,” he deadpanned, “and you can’t.”

Jaskier pouted, lips pursing. “ _Geraltttt_ ,” he whined. “Can I at least stand outside while you do it?”

He saw the twitch of Geralt’s mouth and knew that he had him. He could be surprisingly easy to read. “Fine,” he said roughly, “but you listen to me and do not, under _any_ circumstances, enter the crypt. Do you understand?”

Grinning, he grabbed his jacket. “Understood. I’ll be good, I promise.” But he paused on their way out of the room. “You said it was a well-paying job.”

Geralt nudged him with the start of a smirk. “What’s worth more than your _life?_ ”

*

He _was_ good, to be fair. They found the crypt and Jaskier stood outside while Geralt entered by himself. He was thrumming with energy, waiting for—for _what?_ They hadn’t really discussed what Geralt was planning to do _after_ this. Jaskier shrugged, pulling his jacket tighter around him. No worries, he thought brightly, the night was still young.

*

Geralt resurfaced out of the crypt about an hour or two later. He looked a bit worse for wear, jacket torn and a bit of dirt on his cheek, but that was it. Beaming, Jaskier rushed over.

“So?” he asked, bouncing on his feet. “Where is he?”

He had never actually _seen_ a ghost before. Were they like the stories, transparent? Could they touch things? _Could_ he even see him?

Suddenly—and unexpectedly—Geralt was touching him, hands on his face. Jaskier startled, not expecting it. “He said something about a travel companion.” There was something _off_ about his voice, but he couldn’t quite place it. It was too smooth, lacking the usual gruffness. “But he failed to mention you were so _gorgeous_.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Uhh,” he replied dumbly. He had certainly been complimented many times in his life, by both men and women, but he had never expected to hear those words out of _Geralt’s_ mouth. He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

Geralt’s rough thumbs stroked his cheeks. He blinked again, finally understanding.

“You’re—you’re the, um, the guy,” he stammered. He took a step back, pointing an accusatory finger. “You _possessed_ Geralt?” That hadn’t been part of the plan. Jaskier didn’t know what to do. He had a dagger in his boot, but he couldn’t do anything with it at the risk of hurting Geralt’s body. Screaming would be pointless; they were on an abandoned estate, far from any help.

Geralt extended a hand, wiggling his fingers. He grinned wickedly. “Vlodimir.”

Jaskier just stared at the offered hand, not taking it. “I—I want to speak to him,” he said, looking up. “Geralt, I mean.”

Vlodimir—right, that had been his name—frowned, shifting on his feet. “Very well. If you must.” 

Suddenly Jaskier watched, speechless and wide-eyed, as a man stepped out of Geralt’s body. He looked silver, oddly, not as transparent as he’d been expecting. Geralt stumbled forward a bit, and Jaskier caught him.

“I did _not_ give you permission to do that.”

Vlodimir looked unimpressed, arms folded over his chest. Jaskier assumed he had been handsome in life; strong features, a wisp of dark hair falling over his eye. “You’re supposed to be giving me a night I won’t forget, is that _not_ what my brother requested?”

Geralt just kept glaring at him. “And _I_ suggested we could find you a person to possess for the night,” he shot back. “I did not suggest myself.”

“Very well,” he said again, too bright, looking over at Jaskier. “I’ll take him.”

Jaskier took a step back just as Geralt stepped in front of him. “Absolutely not,” they said at the same time.

Vlodimir arched an eyebrow, high on his forehead, placing his hands on his hips. Jaskier could appreciate his flair, but he did _not_ want to be possessed, thank you. He had many things he wanted to experience in his life but that—unfortunately—was not on the list. “If that’s the case,” he said breezily, “let me borrow your body for the night.”

Jaskier reached out for Geralt without even thinking, clutching his arm. Geralt took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Jaskier’s head snapped in his direction. “You’re not—you’re _joking_ , right?” He squeezed his arm. “You’re not seriously going to let him use your body for the night? What if he _kills_ someone? Pisses off the wrong person?”

Vlodimir scoffed. “I am offended,” he said primly. “I wish for no such things. I just want to enjoy one last night in a _physical_ body.”

Geralt visibly hesitated for a second before sighing. “It’s just one night, Jaskier,” he said, looking over at him, “and _you’ll_ be there, right? You can keep him out of trouble.”

“Geralt,” he said. “Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?” At his nod, Jaskier turned to Vlodimir with hardened eyes. “ _Fine_ ,” he said. “There is a banquet tonight; a wedding feast.” He had heard about it as they were traveling in. With his reputation, they would let them in. “We will go, and you can have your fun, but as soon as the feast is over, you are out of his body.” Geralt watched him, an amused quirk to lips. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” Vlodimir replied quickly. “Do not worry.” Jaskier watched, stomach churning, as Vlodimir stepped back into Geralt’s body. Vlodimir looked down at his clothes, plucked at them. “If we are attending a feast, I will need some adjustments.”

*

Jaskier stood outside the curtains leading to the washroom, arms folded over his chest. He heard the splashing of water. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” he heard from inside the room in Geralt’s voice. _But it wasn’t Geralt._

He couldn’t forget that.

The thing was, Jaskier had actually bathed with Geralt many times over the years. It was normal for them. But—this was different, for _obvious_ reasons. He felt like he was invading Geralt’s privacy if he agreed to it.

“No,” he said for the second time. “Just hurry up, okay? The feast is starting soon.”

Finally, thirty minutes later, Vlodimir stepped out of the washroom. Jaskier turned toward him and—paused, blinking slowly. He was still in Geralt’s body, but there were some _wild_ differences: he had shaved away the dark stubble that had been on Geralt’s jaw for days, now, obviously not a priority for the man. His hair was pulled back with a ribbon, decorated with a few small braids. He might’ve even trimmed the hair around Geralt’s face. Most noticeably, he was dressed properly in well-fitting clothes, a dark contrast against his pale skin, a jacket on top that shimmered as he stepped closer.

He wondered, briefly, where he had even found those clothes.

“Like what you see?” he asked, purring. It was a sound he had never heard out of Geralt’s mouth.

Jaskier startled, taking a step back. He cleared his throat. “We’re late,” he said stiffly. “Come on.”

*

Vlodimir flirted with him all night, flashing Geralt’s perfect teeth, eyes sparkling. It was _torture_. Jaskier usually enjoyed celebrations of all kind, but he didn’t feel much like partying. He stood off to the side for most of the night, watching Vlodimir closely. Once he had discovered Jaskier would not sleep with him, he had started searching for new prey.

When Vlodimir had asked _for the fifth time,_ “Will you accompany me to bed tonight?”, Jaskier had actually struggled to turn him away. If he slept with him tonight, it would be a mere imitation of the real thing.

The music changed, suddenly, slowing down. It was a rough transition. Jaskier’s eyes flickered to the band. “Amateurs,” he muttered under his breath.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice.

He looked up, sighing. Vlodimir stood in front of him, smiling brightly, unnatural and somewhat unsettling. But at the same time he was thankful to finally have a look at Geralt’s smile—his _real_ smile, not the half-arsed things he flashed at him when he was mildly amused. He filed the image away for later. “What is it?” he asked after harshly clearing his throat.

“You will not sleep with me,” he said, “which I respect.” Jaskier scoffed. Vlodimir took a step back with one foot, bending at the waist. “But,” he said, extending a hand, “can I at least have this dance?”

Jaskier’s brain malfunctioned for a second, not expecting _that_. He had never danced with Geralt before—actually, he had never even _seen_ him dance. He lightly took his hand. “Uh, sure.”

Vlodimir beamed in Geralt’s skin. He pulled him smoothly to the heart of the ballroom. Jaskier knew how to dance, had taken classes as a child. Once they had found a spot, Vlodimir placed a hand high on his back. Jaskier moved instinctively, a hand on Geralt’s arm. 

They followed the music, spinning around and narrowly avoiding other dancing pairs.

Jaskier had to remind himself—again and again—that he wasn’t actually dancing with _Geralt_. This was not him, but an impostor. An _intruder_.

Vlodimir cursed when he nearly stepped on Jaskier’s foot. “This body does not know these moves.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he replied with a small smile.

They continued dancing. After spinning again, Vlodimir dipped him without warning. Jaskier startled, not expecting it, but quickly caught up, arching his back. He saw a few people watching them and couldn’t help smiling, wondering what kind of rumors would circulate the Continent after tonight. After he had straightened his back again, he noticed Vlodimir was staring at him, an odd quirk to his mouth.

Jaskier frowned, skin prickling. “What?”

Vlodimir’s eyes flickered away and back again. “I do not understand,” he said slowly. Jaskier just raised his eyebrows. “You have feelings for him and yet you will not sleep with me.”

He tensed briefly before forcing himself to relax again. “You just answered your own question,” he replied tersely. He didn’t even bother denying it. Didn’t see the point.

Vlodimir blinked. “I did?”

Jaskier squeezed his— _Geralt’s_ —arm. “I have feelings for _him_ , not his body. I don’t want to sleep with him if it’s not really him.”

“Hmm,” was all he said in reply, finally sounding a bit like the man he was inhabiting.

*

Jaskier let out a sigh of relief when the celebration finally started to reach its natural conclusion. The newlyweds had left and there were only a few stragglers. Vlodimir was one of them, flirting tirelessly with a woman. Rolling his eyes, he walked over and grabbed him by the arm.

“Outside,” he said. “Now.”

Vlodimir didn’t put up much of a fight as he dragged him out of the building and down the front steps. Jaskier glanced around, once, to make sure there would be no witnesses before he turned back to Vlodimir. 

“Well?” he prompted. “You had your fun.”

He certainly had; he had even disappeared at one point, just to be found by Jaskier a few minutes later, making out with one of the servers. He had ignored the spark of jealousy _that_ particular sight had ignited in him.

Vlodimir just stared at him. Jaskier stared back, unfaltering. “ _Now_.”

“You see,” Vlodimir said breezily, “I’ve had a change of heart.”

Jaskier stiffened, hands curling into fists at his sides. He had feared this—it was why he’d been against the idea in the first place—especially because what did Geralt expect _him_ to do? He wasn’t magically gifted or even very strong and even if he _could_ take Geralt, he couldn’t risk injuring his body. “What do you mean?”

“Why would I _ever_ leave?” he continued, smiling brightly. Jaskier wanted to punch him. He didn’t. “I have everything I could want in this body and—” his smile turned a bit nasty “—it’s not like _you_ can stop me.”

“If you think Geralt won’t find a way to force you out of his body—”

Vlodimir set a heavy hand on his shoulder. Jaskier tensed, quickly pushing it off. Vlodimir didn’t look deterred or even offended; his hand just fell back by his side. “He can’t. _I’m_ in control.”

“ _Control_ , my arse,” he shot back hotly, stepping forward. “Get out of his body, you fucking _leech_.”

Vlodimir smiled sharply. “And what will you do if I don’t?” he asked, eyes flickering to his boot. “Stab me with the dagger you’ve been carrying all night?” Vlodimir leaned in, their noses almost touching. “But you _won’t_ because you’re too scared of hurting him.”

Jaskier snarled, animalistic in his rage. “Get the fuck _out_.”

“Or what?” he asked, laughing in his face. He leaned back, spreading his arms. “You’ll _stab_ me?”

Jaskier didn’t know what to do. If only Yennefer was here, she would know what to do. “Geralt was _helping_ you. He was just trying to repay—”

Suddenly there was a burst of light and Jaskier stumbled back along with Vlodimir. He grabbed blindly for him, mostly because he wanted to make sure he didn’t run for it. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting.

“Yennefer?” he asked hopefully, heart swelling, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was a man, bald with dark eyebrows and a frown. Vlodimir tensed under his grip. Jaskier wondered if he knew him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The man stepped forward, staring at Geralt. “What is happening here?”

Jaskier didn’t care who he was. He needed help and there was no harm in asking. Vlodimir struggled but he just held on tighter. “He’s possessed,” he said quickly, skipping over the details. “Can you help?” He was obviously a mage—or _something_ —considering he must’ve used magic of some kind to get here. At first the man did nothing. Vlodimir struggled harder. “His name—his _real_ name is Geralt—”

“I know,” he interrupted and suddenly Vlodimir was on his knees, pulling almost violently at his hair.

Jaskier fell, placing a hand on his back. “Wh—what are you doing?” he asked the man, heart pounding. Vlodimir jerked away from him, gasping. He didn’t care about the ghost, obviously, but what if he was causing some kind of damage to the body? “You’re _hurting_ him!”

The man tilted his head.

Suddenly everything stopped, almost like time had paused. Jaskier blinked and Vlodimir was hovering above Geralt’s body, back in his ghost-like state, thrashing violently. Then he was gone, exploding into a million little pieces. Jaskier reached out for one but his hand went through it. Vlodimir’s screams echoed through the streets.

Geralt’s groan of pain snapped him back to reality. He placed a hand on his back, rubbing. “Geralt?”

“He will be okay,” the man said, stepping forward and crouching. “Won’t you, Geralt?”

Jaskier watched as Geralt lifted his head, mouth twisted in a frown. “Thanks,” he said through clenched teeth, “but did you have to make it so fucking _painful?”_

Before Jaskier could ask the man much of anything, like a repeat of _who the fuck are you?_ , he was gone. No fancy flashes or anything like that, not like he was used to. Shaking his head, he turned back to Geralt, still rubbing his back.

*

Jaskier helped Geralt back to the inn, an arm wrapped around his waist. They got through the door, just barely, and Jaskier stumbled across the room. As soon as they were close enough, Geralt fell on the bed with a groan.

“Here,” he said, grabbing the water from the bedside table. Geralt grabbed it, drinking greedily.

Afterwards, he put it back and joined him on the bed. Geralt scooted over, making room for him.

“That was, uh, the man, right?” he asked after a moment, having connected the dots earlier. “Who saved you before?”

Geralt nodded, brushing hair out of his face. His fingers caught on a braid and he cursed, pulling his hand away. “O’Dimm,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier gently touched his arm. “Here,” he said for the second time. Reaching up, he started to undo the braids, one by one. Geralt closed his eyes, letting him work. He thought this was the end of it. That after he was finished, they would both sleep and never discuss tonight again. Jaskier would dream of a world where he was allowed to touch Geralt—the _real_ Geralt—for no reason at all, just because he wanted to.

He wondered what Geralt would dream of.

“Jaskier,” he said, pulling him out of his thoughts. Jaskier startled when he realized Geralt was staring at him. “I should tell you something.”

He lowered his hands. All the braids were gone, leaving small crinkles in his hair. “What is it?”

Geralt’s eyes flickered to his mouth. “I heard it.” Jaskier blinked, not understanding. Or at least hoping he was _misunderstanding_. “All of it. When he was controlling me, I was still— _there_. Just kind of in the background. I don’t know.”

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. “ _No_ ,” he breathed without even meaning to. If he had known, he never would’ve—Jaskier barely realized he was starting to hyperventilate until he felt a hand— _Geralt’s_ hand, he thought idly—on the side of his face.

“Calm down,” he said. “Breathe.”

Jaskier nodded curtly, taking a shaky breath. He focused on Geralt’s hand, warm and rough against his cheek. Geralt opened his mouth, and his stomach churned with the expectation of “ _You’re my closest friend, Jaskier, but—_ ”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” was what he actually said, low and quiet. He almost sounded _hurt_.

Jaskier nearly _laughed_ because—“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked around the lump in his throat. “I couldn’t risk _us_ , Geralt. Friends or—or more, I don’t care,” he said, surprised by how much he meant it. Yes, he _wanted_ Geralt but he would rather be his friend, forever, than ever chance losing him. “I need you in my life, Geralt. I don’t care the details. _That_ is enough for me. That is why I never told you.” He looked away. “Why I never planned to,” he added quietly.

But now there was no going back. He had ruined things. He was an _idiot_.

“You should’ve told me,” he said after a while, and Jaskier turned back to him. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He could never stay away for long.

Jaskier smiled, forcing it. “You don’t have to spare my feelings,” he said, too bright. “We can just pretend like tonight never happened and go back to how we were before. No problem.”

But could he, really? He wasn’t so sure, not after so long of pining, but that wasn’t Geralt’s cross to bear.

Geralt reached out for him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Jaskier stiffened under the touch. “You don’t even know how I feel,” he said after a long moment, lips twisting.

“Well, I—I mean,” he stammered, “I have a pretty good idea and frankly I’d rather not _hear_ the words.”

He knew Geralt didn’t feel the same way but knowing that and hearing the words out of his mouth were two entirely different things. He didn’t think he could take hearing them.

Geralt squeezed his shoulder as he shifted closer, the bed creaking. Jaskier’s heart was like a jackrabbit in his chest, beating crazily. He had been with Geralt all night, but he also hadn’t been. There was no mistaking anyone else for him. Jaskier knew him too well. “I don’t think you do,” he said, low and gruff.

Jaskier swallowed thickly, ignoring the heat in the pit of his stomach. Now wasn’t the time. “Sorry?” he squeaked lamely. Not his best work. But Geralt had _always_ been different from his many other conquests.

“What would you say if I’d been hiding the same secret?” he asked, somehow lowering his voice even more.

Jaskier would’ve thought he was joking but his face was as serious as he’d ever seen, lips pressed together, eyes searching, jaw clenched. Jaskier reached up without thinking, lightly tracing the curve of his jaw with his fingertips. He relaxed under his touch, as Jaskier had been hoping.

“But I don’t understand,” he said finally, still touching his face, unable to stop. “You never said anything.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched. “And _you_ did?”

Jaskier supposed he had a fair point but he still couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t _hope_. “But—”

“You were always whoring around,” he said with no real judgment, just a fact. “I assumed you didn’t feel the same way.”

“It was a _distraction_ , Geralt.” Not the healthiest coping mechanism, certainly, but it had worked—at first. Lately even the sex hadn’t been doing much for him. “I—I thought if I kept seeking comfort elsewhere, eventually I’d get over it. Or something.”

Geralt reached out for him, cupping the side of his neck. His hand was so big, fingers long enough to curl around his neck. Jaskier had never felt safer. “But you didn’t.”

Jaskier smiled slightly, eyes stinging. “I didn’t,” he whispered, a soft confession.

His thumb brushed over his jaw. “Jaskier,” he said, thick with emotion, eyes dark and questioning. Jaskier leaned into his touch; how could he _not?_ “You didn’t sleep with him.”

Jaskier shrugged weakly. “I didn’t want to,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “He wasn’t _you_.”

Suddenly he was being kissed, dry lips against his own. Jaskier was shocked for a total of two seconds before his brain caught up and he was kissing back, eyes closing. Geralt kissed him like an animal, wild and rough, teeth clanking. His lips were dry, but not for long; Jaskier ran his tongue over his bottom lip, once, twice, and _that_ particular problem was fixed in a matter of seconds.

“Jaskier,” he growled against his mouth. “I want—”

He almost sobbed. “ _Anything_ ,” he interrupted, breathless and low.

Geralt pushed him back on the bed, surprisingly gentle, and crawled over him. Jaskier stared up at him, heart tight in his chest. Geralt cupped the side of his face. Jaskier turned his head, nosing at the palm of his hand. His hand was rough and smelled vaguely of leather. _This_ was Geralt, he thought almost deliriously. He could never mistake him for someone else. Never.


End file.
